Suckers - J.A. Konrath

"I think I’ll kill..." Dennis hesitated, looking back and forth between Roger and I, and then
pointed the knife at me. "You."
He rushed forward. I still kind of thought he might be trying to help me with my
development of a moral core, but my bladder disagreed.
There wasn’t time to get the door open, so we rushed across the living room into the kitchen,
screaming, with Dennis right behind us. "Does this seem real? Are you scared?"
Though of course we couldn’t have known the floor plan to Dennis’ home beforehand, it
still sucked to discover that the kitchen was a dead end.
I grabbed the first available object to defend myself. In a kitchen that no doubt contained
knives, forks, meat cleavers, tenderizers, cheese graters, and rolling pins, I felt a little silly trying
to be intimidating with a plastic measuring cup, but, hey, sometimes you just have to make the
best of things.
"My uncle knows a Hollywood producer," Roger said. "He can get you a big part, I
promise."
"Oh yeah? What’s his name?"
"Uncle Phil."
"The producer’s name, jackass."
"Ummm..."
"Don’t try to out-act me, kid. And don’t worry, you’re not the one who’s going to die
tonight. You’re just the audience."
"Then you can’t kill me until we make some popcorn," I said.
Dennis raised an eyebrow. "You’re moments away from a horrible, painful death and you’re
able to make a joke about popcorn?"
I shrugged. It had kind of surprised me, too.
Dennis grinned and pointed the knife at Roger. "Maybe I should kill him instead and make
you the audience."
"No!" Roger protested. "I want the popcorn!"
Dennis shook his head. "No, I need to go with my original instinct. That’s what they tell you
in acting school. Go with your instincts." He gestured at Roger with the knife. "Step out of the
way."
"No."
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